


The Rite Stuff

by hannahrhen



Series: Sex Magic [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, Masturbation, Oh God So Much Swearing, References to Mpreg, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four days after the Dungeon!Porn, we have the Forest!Porn. </p><p>Or, Loki requests Tony Stark's help with a magical rite (the naked kind), and Tony can't say no. Oh, hell--Tony doesn't *want* to say no. And who can blame him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rite Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started with, "Well, I guess they should do that thing in the woods, under the moonlight." And here we are, 3,000-plus words later.

The instructions had been perfectly clear. It was the delivery that had fogged Tony’s mind and fucked with his libido.

 _“We won’t have much time before I cast, and I have little patience. You must clean yourself, slick yourself, and open yourself beforehand. If you choose not to do these things, you’ll regret it. Exquisitely. **For days**.”_ The last was delivered with a promising purr that made Tony shiver and nearly wiped the earlier bits from his memory.

Hell, it was a miracle Tony remembered them at all, as they’d been whispered darkly into his left ear as he was pressed over his workbench, held in place by a heavy weight against his back, inhumanly strong fingers holding his wrists to the surface.

Pervy Norse blanket, indeed. He was getting to _like_ that feeling.

It was entirely possible that, some time after coming on his hands and knees in a dungeon--not role-playing a cow _at all_ , thank you very much--Tony had agreed to “just another little spell, Stark--one for my benefit, this time.” No harm to you and yours, et cetera, et cetera.

What could he say? Any offer that guaranteed him a good fuck--it had to be good, right?--was hard to reject. Especially with his brain pleasantly slowed by climax and titillated by the hard-on Loki had pressed against him. Loki hadn’t made him wait long--just four days had passed since the dungeon “incident,” but Tony had gotten just a little antsy anyway. His moral slippery slope, in this matter, anyway, had turned out to be an ice rink.

He heard the continued whisper with a rush of relief and knife-sharp anticipation. _“Midnight--tonight--at these coordinates.”_ A discarded takeout receipt near Tony’s hand smoked slightly, and a glance confirmed that sooty numbers had appeared on its crinkled surface. The pressure--the incredible, evocative _weight_ \--had disappeared with the end of the message, and he’d found himself alone.

He’d been left with--uh?--four hours to prepare and get his ass (“heh”) to some undeveloped spot of woods in northern part of the Adirondack park upstate, to a remote patch of land only accessible by boat and unsought-after in the muddy damp of late winter.

That’s how he found himself on the bed after completing an embarrassing-- _errrghhh_ \--enema ritual and getting his hands on a fresh bottle of lube and a generously proportioned butt plug. While he wouldn’t admit it to Loki if he could avoid it, it was possible that the feeling of his own fingers getting newly refamiliar with his ass had ended with a violent, noisy jerk-off session as he imagined being on his back, bent in half and fucked--hard--by six-plus-feet of lean, limber sex on a stick.

Hell, he rationalized post-orgasm, it was easier to push the thick plug into his hole when he was relaxed, anyway. So--all part of the plan, right?

It had been a long time since Tony had played these … games with anyone, and the feel of the plug in his ass as he landed the Mark V at the edge of the forest clearing was …. Heh. _Yeah._ He surreptitiously clenched his ass a bit to shift the thing back into a good position. Comfortable. He’d already been half-hard for most of the flight--and he had a feeling he’d be paying for any perceived overeagerness with a good round of god-induced humiliation.

Tony’s suit retracted as he surveyed his surroundings. It was the right location, and Loki was already there--no fashionably-late arrivals when planning sex magic, apparently. The clearing was illuminated by the moon, yes, with glowing, yet flameless lanterns spotting the perimeter. It was mysteriously warm here, considering the season--more magic, doubtlessly.

In the center, a mound of furs, white and brown and black, culled from what appeared to be large animals, but none that Tony immediately could identify. The pile was wide enough and thick enough for two bodies--two adult males--to lie down comfortably. To stretch _out_.

Well. How … _rustic._

A short distance away, Loki was kneeling next to the furs, studying the contents of an opaque marble bowl he tilted carefully in his hands. He was wearing some kind of worn, gray robe of thin material, barely fastened shut, and his hair hung loose around his shoulders. He didn’t look up at the sounds of leaves crunching under Tony’s sneakers.

The line of Loki’s shoulder and back, the ebony gloss of his hair--the sight of Loki on his knees: Tony remembered the bursts of self-indulgent fantasy that had fueled his evening earlier, and he had to catch his breath. Then, because he was Tony, he had to ruin the scene by talking.

“I don’t think PETA would approve of the setting,” he noted in lieu of a greeting. He’d made himself smile to cover his nerves, but the humor faded as he spoke anyway.

Loki looked up then, half-distracted and apparently surprised by the unnoticed arrival. “Oh, is it--.” He stopped himself, shook his head slightly. “It’s time, isn’t it. What did you--.” His eyes focused on Tony, finally. “What is PETA?”

Loki’s obvious bafflement, his hesitation was, Tony had to admit, unsettling. As a result, he found himself equally struggling for a reply. “Uh, just some--some people who aren’t big fans of killing animals for their furs and … you know--.” He waved generally into the center of the circle.

God--not a good start, Stark. Not exactly _suave._ He kicked off his shoes to buy himself some time, took a deep breath, and started over: “Let’s get this magic show on the road, then. Where--uh--do you want me?”

Loki smirked--naturally--and finally committed his full attention to the man. He looked Tony up and down, then gestured to the center of the circle--the pile of furs. Of course.

“You want me to, uh--lie down here--and--.” He dipped his head. _Suave_. Starting over: “ _Fuck_ , why are you making this so hard?”

“I think you’re the one about to make this hard, Tony.” Said with a teasing smile that dispelled some of the tension. Loki set the marble bowl down at the edge of the bedding, and turned his body, still on his knees, to face Tony, an expanse of furs still between them. “Though you already did that earlier, didn’t you?” Loki’s raised eyebrows and even wider, superior grin left no doubt what he was implying, what he’d somehow seen.

“Oh, goddamn it.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Goddamn _you_ , you weirdo. Did you used to peek in on the royal handmaidens in their Asgardian baths, too? Steal their royal panties?”

Loki shrugged, ignoring the jab. “I was only checking to make sure you were following my instructions. It was a pleasant surprise to see you … enjoying them so thoroughly. Were you anticipating what I would do to you tonight--or remembering what I did to you last time, little cow?” He reached for the belt at the robe’s waist, began to loosen it.

“Can you just--can you just shut up? With the cow talk? For once?” Tony raised one leg, bounced around a little on a foot as he removed his first sock, and then repeated the dance with the other. He tossed the socks in the direction of his abandoned sneakers, took two brave steps forward onto the furs, then crossed his arms and gave Loki a hard--no: serious-- _serious_ \--look. “Can we just do this?”

Loki’s smile didn’t dim. “Oh, _yes_.” The robe fell open, then dropped from his shoulders. “I have been waiting for this … spell.”

Tony didn’t bother to hide his appraisal--Loki’s cock was already stirring, so Tony was either doing something right or ... “Good. Fine.” He still could kick himself in his own face for not knowing how to proceed, for being so … _average_ at this. This spell-in-the-woods-with-a-god bullshit (hot, _hot_ bullshit) was rattling him, damn it. He blamed the fresh air--there was too damned much of it. “You … you want me on my knees? Like last time?”

Loki’s intense attention faded--as if he’d just remembered the reason they were there. “Oh, no, Stark.” With a last, thoughtful look at the man, Loki stepped carefully onto the furs, closing the distance, and sat down. “This time, you’re going to ride me.” He reclined fully--elegantly, the bastard--along the ground. “Come here.” He beckoned absently with one hand.

Loki’s other hand slid between his legs to stroke his cock, encourage the slowly swelling erection … and making Tony’s mouth go a little dry. And possibly hang open. Oh, God, Tony thought. This was gonna happen. Tony’s cock, unfettered by the layer of panic confounding Tony’s brain, stood up to cheer the plan.

Loki had spread his legs slightly, bent his knees so his feet rested flat on the bedding. He folded one arm beneath his head. He didn’t take his eyes off Tony.

“Oh, God,” Tony said. He breath caught, and suddenly his cock’s plan seemed like the right one to go with. Everything on Tony, every stitch of clothing, was suddenly tight, uncomfortable--his pants and briefs, most obviously, but his shirt itched against his skin and everything--everything suddenly needed to--

Come. Off.

He stripped off his shirt as he walked into the circle, stepped onto the scattered pelts. Enjoyed Loki’s eyes on him as he lowered his trousers, his underwear with one efficient shove. Tried not to stumble as he hopped his way out of them--he’d given up on suaveness and was just aiming for “making it out alive.” A good goal for fucking--for being fucked by--the god of mischief.

Naked, he looked down at the prone figure of said god, who stretched under Tony’s eyes. “God, you’re--. _God._ ”

“Are you always this adorably half-witted, Stark?” Then, a knowing smile, a familiar tone: “Kneel over me.”

Tony would have shot him an “I see what you did there” look, but he was too busy complying with the command, stepping over Loki and dropping to his knees by the next breath. Loki tugged him down, positioned him, with fingers tight on his arms, his hips. It’s show time, Tony thought, reaching behind himself to grasp the plug still seated inside.

Loki stopped him. “No. Let me.”

Long fingers gripped the plug, twisted it just to be an evil bastard, and then pulled it out as Tony sighed with relief, feeling the muscles twitch as they sought, wanted to be stretched again. Tony pressed the fingers of one hand into his own thigh, rested his other hand on Loki’s chest, just skimming a nipple.

Loki held the impressive device between them; it glistened wetly in the moonlight. “I’m flattered, Stark. You compliment my … assets.” He dropped the plug to the side, returned his hand to grip the back of Tony’s thigh, spreading him wider over Loki’s hips. Tony’s fingers curved, nails lightly scratching Loki’s skin.

Tony smiled at the small, pleased noise from the god. “It’s no compliment. I felt your ‘assets’ against _my ass_ when you were--uh--” Fuck. He’d left himself wide open (“heh”) by bringing up the memory. He shifted into a better position over Loki, watched as he liar-god grabbed his own cock with his other hand, directed it at Tony’s slick hole.

“When I was milking your cock?” Then, pulling at Tony’s hard thigh: “Down, Stark.”

Tony let out a breath--it was happening _now,_ apparently. He lowered himself slowly, felt the beginning of the breach. “Yeah--fuck. Yeah, that.” Not entirely sure what he was referring to anymore. Halfway seated onto Loki’s generous erection, Tony was more than glad he’d gone for the biggest plug he could find. The remaining inches opened him further, and he found himself digging too-sharp nails into his own thigh as well as Loki’s skin.

A lovely sigh redirected his attention to the man--being--below. Loki’s eyes were closed. Now that Tony was impaled, both Loki’s hands gripped Tony’s thighs, up high, close to his ass, keeping him spread wide. Tony raised himself up once, and let his own weight press him back down onto that thick cock. Loki’s hard breathing, his involuntary smile were the encouragement Tony needed to seek and find a good rhythm: hard, fast. Glorious.

It was good to know that a good, hard fuck needed no translation between worlds. Universal language, indeed. Then, a hot little groan from Loki echoed through this secret space and suddenly made Tony want--

More.

He slowed his movements. “Can I kiss you?”

Loki’s eyes snapped open, narrowed suspiciously. “That’s not part of the ritual.”

“Oh, um, okay, then--” Started to push his own body back into the rhythm, until one hand snaked up around the back of Tony’s neck, stopping him.

Loki continued, “Nor is it forbidden.” Tony was bent low, then, pulled to Loki by the strong hand on his neck. Loki kissed like he fucked: certain of his actions, sure of their acceptance. Tony was the happy loser of a battle of tongues that left him panting, smiling deliriously into Loki’s mouth.

Loki released him, and Tony pulled himself together, returning his attention to the cock in his ass and rediscovering their rhythm. He stayed bent low, grabbing for Loki’s upper arms. “That was … Yeah. Okay.”

“Mm.”

One perfect thrust, and Tony’s dick announced its intention to take its balls and go home. Sure enough, it was over before Tony was ready or particularly willing, but they had to come eventually, right? Loki’s hands seized him by the hips, pulled him down hard--tight--and with a final, brutal thrust up, he spilled into Tony. Tony’s hand on his own dick finished himself off seconds later, striping his come over Loki’s abdomen.

He was allowed no more than fifteen seconds to catch his breath before he was unseated, pushed roughly to the side as Loki’s soft member slipped from him.

“Ugh. Christ.” Tony rolled onto his back. “Way to make a guy feel special,” he sniped.

Loki sat up, looked pretty dispassionately at Tony for a guy who’d just shot his load into the other guy’s ass. He shook his head--himself annoyed with … something, Tony guessed. Finally, he asked, “Would you hand me that bowl?” Loki gestured outside the circle, where the bowl rested within Tony’s arm’s reach.

Tony reluctantly sat up, wincing at the feel of Loki’s come, slick between his cheeks. Gross, his least favorite part, and, also, his whole ass ached, by the way … but totally worth it. “Hard fuck in the woods, delivered as promised--A-plus-plus-plus, seller.” As he fetched the bowl, Tony peered at its contents--a ripple of liquid, like water, but opalescent on the surface, flowing in thick waves like the contents of a stoner’s lava lamp.

(That brought back good memories--ah, _college._ )

He held the bowl out. “So--uh--what is this one, exactly? This spell?” He offered, hopefully: “More protection?”

“No.” Loki took the bowl, looked inside--attention to Tony diminished again. “It’s a simple fertility rite.”

It took two seconds to process the words, then another three for Tony’s balls to migrate cravenly into his pelvis. “Did you just--” He stopped with a frantic gasp. “Did you just--did you fucking _impregnate_ me?”

Loki’s head jerked up, his expression confused. “What--” He stopped. “Oh! Your face! Oh, no-- _no_. That is priceless, Stark. Your face--it is _priceless._ ”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me if you just knocked me up.”

“No, I didn’t just ‘knock you up,’ Stark. _Remember_ yourself.” Loki set the bowl in the space between his thighs, dipped his fingers in, delicately shook off the excess fluid. Tony got a sinking feeling as he watched Loki pull his hands from the bowl, then rub his fingers firmly over his abdomen. His flat, sexy abdomen, damn it.

“Then--what--?”

“We can’t all be the god of fertility,” Loki replied, a tinge of disgust following the thought. “Some of us need a little help. We need to prove our _vitality_ before we're deemed worthy.”

Oh. _Ooohhh_. “So, you’re looking to get some cute human woman--um--.” He struggled for words that weren’t “pregnant” or “with child.” “--up the duff?” Yeah, that worked for the Brits.

Loki snorted at him. “You Midgardians have the strangest words for conception.” He seemed satisfied when the fluid on flat stomach disappeared into his skin. Simple enough, this ritual, though Tony had no idea what went into that goo (this time) (thank goodness). “No, Stark--I’m the one to bear the child. I’m just ensuring it _takes_ when--whenever I find a mortal to do it. You ‘opened the gates,’ if you will.”

Ew. Gates? What the hell was Loki--. No, time to move onto the next question.

“Why do you want to have a baby, exactly?”

Loki had kept his best “what the fuck” looks in reserve, because one was finally trotted out for Tony’s benefit. When he finally spoke, he only said, “Why does anyone, Stark?’

Tony held his hands up, placating--vaguely remembering some history here he probably needed to leave alone. “Okay, okay. So, you’re going to--.” Tony paused, imagining that flat stomach rounded instead, Loki swaying awkwardly on his feet. His six-foot-plus of sex-on-a-stick looking more like the Little Prince’s boa constrictor and elephant. He sighed. “You’re going to get pregnant. After you find a--woman. A woman is going to _impregnate_ you.”

Back to basics, then.

“Don’t be so provincial. And how would a mortal female impregnate me, exactly?”

More silence. Tony felt like he was losing his mind. Just a bit.

“Look--I’m trying to _pretend_ that _any_ of this makes sense to me, so would you cut me some slack? Please?” Loki offered a half-nod, a concession, and Tony continued. “So, okay--a woman can’t … do it, then. Okay. Then, you’re looking for a human male--a man. To--” He waved in the general direction of Loki’s midsection.

“Yes, _Stark._ I would prefer an Aesir male, but I’m here now, and the selection is limited or otherwise unacceptable. So, yes.” He looked away, picked too-casually at a bit of fur under his fingertips.

Tony had the sense that an entire second conversation was being had much more successfully by an entirely different pair of Tony-and-Lokis, somewhere, and, in this version, right now, he was just trying to keep up. Continuing the theme of not-getting-killed. However, he also knew that, despite the liar-god’s turned head, Tony had his complete attention. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

Loki offered no more than an amused hum, still playing with the furs. By the magicked lanterns, by the light of the silvery moon, he was mouth-wateringly gorgeous, and Tony lamented that he still would be, even when he looked like the boa constrictor that swallowed the elephant.

“Fine.” Taking a deep breath, ripping the band-aid off, Tony plunged ahead: “ _Fine._ I’m here, I have a dick, and for some fucked-up reason it seems to like the thought of screwing a half-human baby into you, all right? 

“So,” he finished confidently. “Since I rarely--okay-- _never_ say no to my dick … let’s _do_ this shit.”

His bravado earned a single chuckle. “Mm. Such a romantic.”

“Do you want romantic, or do you want a smart-ass kid with at least half of my iron balls?” (Said balls were also very interested in the proceedings, incidentally.) “Because whatever you and I make together--a little brown-eyed girl with pigtails and a penchant for world domination or a giant fucking Cthulhu monster with thirty-foot tentacles, it is going to be _epic_.”

Loki snorted, offered Tony a conciliatory smile. “You make valid points ... for a mortal.” He sighed as if in resignation. “All right, then--since it’s the best offer I’ve had ...” Loki returned to the furs, spread his legs again, even wider. A hand slipped beneath the furs, quickly found and then presented to Tony a vial with some sort of … gel-like substance inside.

Lube.

Tony had a sudden feeling he’d been played … and he didn’t give a shit. Especially when the next words fell from Loki’s liar’s mouth:

“Fuck me, Stark. Fuck me until I can’t walk.”

Tony’s exhausted body suddenly sparked to life--the product of Loki’s magic, or just his words. Just the _possibilities_.

“Fine. But I want you on your hands and knees, _little cow._ ” Tony was so proud of himself for getting that one out.

“Oh, if I had known you liked putting your cock into animals, Stark, I would have appeared to you as a horse months ago. It _is_ my specialty.”

“Oh, shut up!” And with a handful of lube, a face hot with embarrassment, and one very opinionated cock, Tony got into the business of knocking up a god.

.  
.  
.

“Really, Stark? ‘Knocking up?’”

“Shut. The Fuck. Up.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I fucking mpregged again. Unless it doesn't count if they're just *talking* about it. (sigh) Is there a support group for this sort of thing? Though I can only be so remorseful if the end result is either a little girl bent on world domination or, you know, fucking Cthulhu. That's awesomeness right there!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can find me publicly hand-wringing over my writing, or fangirling over other people's, on Tumblr: http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/


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